


The Prince and the Heiress BVDN February 2019

by rockykelboa



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Film Noir, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 04:31:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockykelboa/pseuds/rockykelboa
Summary: Some drabs for the February 2019 BVDN hosted by The Prince and the Heiress community!Theme: Film NoirArtwork byBianWW





	The Prince and the Heiress BVDN February 2019

**Rainy Night**

The rain blows sideways in sheets. With every gust of wind, it pelts against his windows like ocean spray, obscuring his view of the street below. Like staring through stained glass, the red lights of the pizza parlor across the street smear with the golden glow of street lamps. 

He barely hears the rapping at his front door. 

It’s late, far too late for a client. Vegeta picks up the pistol from his desk and silently stalks across the room to peer through the peephole. 

It’s her. She looks pathetic, a stray cat staring up at the backside of his door with wide, pleading eyes begging to be let inside. Rivulets of rainwater trail from the coiled locks of hair to trace her pale shoulders and pebble across her décolletage. The low-cut silk dress clings to her skin, and her arms wrap around herself, either feigning modesty or fear or perhaps she’s actually cold. Either way, she’s not a threat, just an annoyance.

Vegeta tucks the gun into his waistband and unlatches the door to let her in.

**Private Eye**

She steps inside, still cowering like a frightened animal, dripping rainwater all over his rug. 

“I have office hours,” he tells her.

She isn’t the first client to turn up unannounced in the middle of the night. It’s the nature of the job, and by running his business from his apartment, he’s left himself open to these sorts of drop-ins.

“This is serious, Vegeta.” Her voice is uneven, and he wonders if maybe it isn’t an act. “I’m being followed!” 

Oh… Is that all? He thought she knew.

“I know,” he shrugs. He tears open the plastic dry cleaning bag he’d hung on the coatrack and tosses her a button up. 

“You what!?” she snaps at him as she yanks the garment over her shoulders. Her voice pitches, hitting an octave that will have the neighbor’s dogs howling comebacks. “Vegeta! You knew I was being followed, and you just let it happen? You call yourself a private eye!?”

“Investigator… It’s the technical term.”

Cue the dogs. She doesn’t like to be corrected. Sure enough she’s shrieking at him in four letter words, her little fists pummeling wildly against his chest. 

**Femme Fatale**

It’s a far cry from the femme fatale act she put on three days ago. The heiress to the Brief’s fortune waltzed into his world all dolled up in furs and high heels sharp enough to sever an artery with some story of an ex husband she believes stole her family’s most prized artifacts—some ancient, amber colored orbs that are supposedly worth more than their entire enterprise. 

Her possession of them was a secret, she claimed, known only to her closest confidants. And the place she’d kept them was known only to her herself and that nitwit she’d married. 

That’s who’s following her. 

“Relax,” he says, catching her wrists. “It’s your ex-husband.”

“I know! I told you that.” She grinds her teeth, eyes pinned on him as if she thinks him incompetent. 

“What I mean is, the miserable fool wants you back. He didn’t steal your artifacts. He’s hired his own P.I. because he thinks you’re having an affair.”

The fiery tension in her arms goes slack. “Oh,” she says. “Well, I’m not.” 

“I know that too,” he grins. “I’m very thorough.”

Her head tilts, and her pink lips purse, glaring up at him like he’s the enemy. Perhaps she didn’t expect him to dig around in her personal affairs, but it’s how the land lies in this business. Nothing is private.

**Secret Meeting**

Her nostrils flare as she huffs and tears herself from his grip. Kicking off her heels as if she owns the place, she marches over to his desk and refills his tumbler with cheap whiskey.

With a hip propped against the desk, she takes a long drink. 

“So,” she says as she sets the glass against the wood so delicately it doesn’t make a sound. “What’s next?”

What’s next… her words are pointed, all business, and his head swirls with thoughts that are anything but professional. His shirt gapes open on her small frame, and her ruined dress still sticks to her wet skin, clinging to every bump and curve. If she’s trying to set him off, it’s working. The woman is practiced in the art of seduction, and he knows enough about her now to distrust her.

“Frieza Enterprise,” he says. “That’s my lead. They’ll be at the Shenron Gala tomorrow night, same as you.” 

“And?” she asks in a tone that suggests she already suspects his request. Her finger traces the rim of his glass.

“And you will take me as your date.” 

**Cigarette**

“My date?” she lays out the words like a question, but the hooked smirk in her pink lips says it’s exactly what she’d expected. This is what she’s been plotting the entire time. Vegeta knew the whole damsel thing was an act, but he didn’t expect her to be two steps ahead of him knowing it.

“And Yamcha?” she asks, almost sweetly.

“Like I said, the idiot seeks nothing more than reconciliation. He’s not your thief, Ms. Brief, he’s your stalker.”

“Right, but if he sees you with me in public…”

“I have personnel I trust. You won’t be in any danger, especially not on my arm.”

He has a feeling she doesn’t take the assurance the way he means it. She stalks towards him, hips moving with the slinky dress, smooth as a cat stalking its prey. The frightened, wet little kitten has turned, and Vegeta feels his blood redirect from her pursuit to heat his face. 

She’s pressed flush against him, her chin on his chest, staring up with a practiced honeyed gaze as she reaches around his back to pull a packet of cigarettes from his back pocket, stepping away to prop one between her teeth. 

**Double Cross**

She glances around his place, and before she has to ask, he flicks open his lighter.

She sucks her cigarette against the flame to ignite it and blows smoke from the corner of her lips. “We’re partners, then?” 

“No. Not partners. You’re paying me to do a job. You will follow my lead.”

The girl’s eyes offhandedly flick toward the ceiling as she nods and takes another drag. A part of him wonders if this isn’t all an elaborate set-up. Some mythical, ancient dragon stones happen to fall into the hands of a multi-billion dollar corporate vamp and go missing. She hires him, a down and out P.I. with an extensive rap sheet, and all of his intel points at Frieza, his former employer—if that’s what he could be called. A part of him wonders if she’s working for him. If these stones are a myth, a ploy to double cross him, punish him for leaving the way he did. 

She steps toward him, smoke curling from her lips. Her damp dress this close in the light reveals two pert nipples beneath the silk. His own dress shirt hangs halfway off her shoulders.

She puts the cigarette to his lips and tucks a hand around his back, watching him inhale, like she’s studying an alien species. She smells of fruity perfume mixed with the fresh scent of rain.

“You don’t trust me,” she grins slightly, as if his trust is a delicacy that she’s planning to savor, but not quite yet.


End file.
